


Just... Curious

by ErikLeFantome



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Post-Chandelier, probably a one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:11:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErikLeFantome/pseuds/ErikLeFantome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg Giry ignores everyones' advice and her own common sense. As usual. But this time she pays the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just... Curious

Meg Giry waded through the accursed waters beneath the Opera Garnier, wondering what in God’s name possessed her to go down there. Her breath curled in white wisps in the air before her. The chorus girl shivered violently, her teeth chattering. Gossamer dresses offered no protection against the cold; instead the fine silk clung to Petite Giry like a second skin. She hugged herself tightly and bit back a yelp when she lost her footing and almost fell straight into the deeper water. Any light seemed to be swallowed by the waters of the lake, offering no reflections, only darkness. Meg tried not to think about what would happen if she fell; she couldn't even swim properly. Maybe the phantom had disabled the traps when he left? If he'd left.

Meg couldn't believe the risks she was taking coming down here. Her Mother would kill her if she knew. If the phantom didn’t get to her first. She'd always been told that curiosity killed the cat, but this was more than curiosity. There were so many questions that needed answering. What was it that brought Christine down here in the first place? What, or who, had convinced her to stay?

The shore of the phantom’s so-called-home loomed up ahead through the gloom. Meg squinted as she drew nearer, her pace speeding up and her footsteps becoming more careless. Suddenly, her foot caught on some rope, from a loose net maybe? She cried out as threw her hands out in front of her as the skin of her palms teared against the steps. Immediately Meg clasped a hand over her mouth as her voice ricocheted through the cavernous hall. Slowly, she rose to her feet, her eyes starting to adjust.

The ‘lair’ was covered in a light coating of dust and cobwebs, but underneath, Meg could sense the presence of a somewhat veiled opulence. It was as if the mind of the genius lingered on the ivory keys of the organ, remaining immortal inside the notes that graced parchment lying haphazardly on the damp stone tiles. Faded red silk, now torn and ragged, hid numerous chambers and doors from view. The dancer, attempting a low-profile, stepped silently through the charred paper, torn cloth, and shattered glass towards the organ. The keys were blanketed by the same thin layer of dust as the rest of the lair, only this felt different. This felt not abandoned, but untouchable. Meg felt the overwhelming urge to run her fingers over the ivories, but refrained. She felt unworthy. Instead she traced the notes formed in red ink on the score abandoned on the music stand. It was the only undamaged object in the room, as though the vandal couldn't bring themself to do it. She scanned over the lyrics, trying to replicate the ominous voice of the phantom in her head. But somehow, his menacing voice didn't fit the words.

They seemed too soft, too beautiful to be written by such a monster. Meg thought back to that night, the night of Don Juan. The look in Christine's eyes as he sung to her, his voice possessive and alluring. And then the change, the change when his mask was torn away and he was exposed and desperate, pleading with Christine and expressing his love in the only way he knew how. Through song.

This man, this demon, was a monster. A creature of hell. Think of all the people he'd murdered and how much terror he'd caused when the opera house was under his reign. But those eyes, so full of love and sorrow. Was Christine right? Was there really more to this so called phantom than just his face? Meg frowned and shook her head, stepping away from the organ.

She had the terrible feeling that she was being watched. A cold shiver ran up her spine. It was probably just her imagination, the spirit of the phantom haunting her.

"What am I even doing here?" She asked herself in a whisper.

Suddenly, a cold sliver of metal pressed itself against her neck and large hand with long, boney fingers clamped around her mouth. Meg yelped but her protests were muffled. The wickedly curved blade dug ever so slightly deeper into her skin.

"Yes, what are you doing here I wonder?"

Meg fell silent, like a rabbit in the headlights. Her heart was beating like a hummingbirds wing. Oh how she wished she could take flight right now. The Phantom's muscles were coiled like a viper, and Meg felt that with one wrong move he could snap her neck as easily as he would snap a twig. She could feel his lean body pressed against her back, lithe like a panther's. The blade rested on her neck, a featherlike touch, almost a caress. How could someone with a voice so beautiful be so evil? So murderous and tortured that he became a monster. _And with a face to match_ Meg thought bitterly, clenching her fists to stop them shaking. If he was going to kill her, she'd stay strong. _Never let them see your fear_ as her mother said.

"You-" the young dancer started, her voice cracking with fear. She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "You wouldn't kill me." She challenged, hoping she sounded more confident than she was.

The Phantom was fooled by nothing. Marguerite felt a deep rumble in his chest as he started to laugh. It wasn't the same manic laughter that she was used to, it was an ominous, low chuckling. _Can someone really take that much joy in other's fear._

"Do you really believe that, child?" he challenged, his menacing baritone giving her goosebumps.

 _No. Not at all._ Meg's mind was frantic.

"My mother will know it was you." she countered, playing her second card.

There was a pause and the Phantom exhaled heavily, but his grip never loosened.

"Your mother," he hissed. "abandoned me as soon as the mob began to hunt me. Why should I care if she suspects me or not?"

Meg felt her heartstrings being pulled. Underneath the anger lay eternal sorrow, betrayal. She'd always had huge reserves of empathy, even for monsters. She’d once read that anyone can seek redemption up until their last breath. Even if they were a creature like the phantom. _He deserves it. He's a murderer._

"And if she did, what would she do about it?" he teased, and she could almost hear the victory in his voice.

As much as she hated to admit it, her mother would never confront a villain like the Phantom. Even if her daughters life was at stake. It’s not that she wasn't a strong woman; Meg had seen her make even Andre and Firmin quake under her wrath. But never the Phantom. She tried to think of something clever to say. _What would Mother say?_

"She'd do nothing." Meg admitted, trying to keep her resolve strong and calm. "You could kill me right now and no-one could do a thing to stop you. Are you happy now? Will my death help drown your sorrows?"

"You know nothing of sorrow, Young Giry." he spat, the knife pressing ever so lightly into her neck.

"Maybe I don't," she agreed, beginning to feel faint. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up. "But if you kill me I may never be able to learn."

There was another silence, slightly longer than the last.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you." he inquired, his voice casual yet curious, as if she was just another of his victims. _He's just a cat playing with the mouse before it's killed_

"It would..." Think Meg think! "Be a mark on your conscience."

_That's the best you could come up with?_

"Ha!" The phantom let out a single laugh. "You should know by now that I have no conscience."

"Then why didn't you kill me instantly?"

"I get lonely. It's not often that I get someone to talk to down here."

"What about Christine?"

Meg knew as soon as she said it that it was most definitely the worst thing to say. The knife dug into her skin by a few millimetres, making her gasp as she felt warm droplets of blood trickle down the pale skin of her neck.

"Never mention that name." He growled in her ear making her break out in a cold sweat.

She wanted to ask why, but she wouldn't let her curiosity get her into even more trouble.

"You're going to kill me anyway, so you may as well get it over and done with." She whispered, almost incoherable.

"I wouldn't have to kill you if you hadn't tresspassed, Young Giry."

"Stop calling me that!" Meg snapped, taking herself by surprise. "And you always have a choice. You could let me go if you weren't heartless."

 _This is it_ Meg thought. If her curiosity hadn't killed her then her sharp tongue definitely would. Suddenly, menacing laughter ricocheted through the cavern.

 "You made your choice coming down here, _Little Giry._ " he sneered, elongating her surname to mock her. "And I would not describe myself as heartless... I just have less of a heart than others."

"Will your small heart hold any guilt when you kill me?" Meg asked, her heart-rate getting faster and faster.

He could kill her any second if he got bored of her talking. Meg Giry, the ballet dancer that can never keep her mouth shut, was struggling for words at the time she needed them most.

"How will I know until I kill you?"

"You wont," she stated, fighting to stop her voice shaking at the talk of her own death. "But please find some way to write and tell me once I'm dead, I'll be curious to know.

The Phantom chuckled lightly, the knife unwavering in his hand as blood continued to drip onto Meg's dress.

"You are a very curious child." he observed and Meg forced a smile to try and fight the closing darkness.

"As I have been told a lot."

"And will you write back to me from beyond the grave?"

"I will try, as I am sure you will be curious to know what heaven will be like," Meg paused before continuing. _I'm going to die anyway._ “Considering the only afterlife you will know is the fires of hell."

The Phantom sighed, as if he'd heard this many times before.

"All humans are bound to hell, we will never be good enough in the eyes of ' _Our lord God'._ " he assured.

Meg panicked again as she couldn't think of anything to say. His words had slithered through her ear unnoticed and coiled themselves around her brain. Now they were starting to constrict. Maybe he was right. Shouldn't she be saying her prayers rather than bantering with the devil before her death? She couldn't think of anything she would've done wrong. Surely there was a heaven for all pure souls...

"Do you not agree, child?"

"Does it matter?" Meg asked. "Whether I go to heaven or hell, whether they exist or not, at least I will be away from you."

She felt his muscles tense behind her and his teeth grit together.

"That's all everyone wants, just to get away. To get away from the _monster_.” he hissed.

"Maybe if you didn't greet people with the blade of your knife they might not feel as strongly." she criticised him, her voice almost a whisper croaky with uncontrollable fear. "If you just-"

"If I didn't would you stay?" he interrupted.

His voice had changed; instead of being filled with violence and malice, there was something else there too. An underlying sense of defeat and despair and desperation, maybe even a glimmer of hope. _He isn't heartless, his heart isn't even small. His heart is broken._ Underneath the anger and hatred, was the voice of a broken man. A man who had been tormented and turned away and had his heart beaten down until it had retreated into his black and rage-filled mind. But now, the young chorus girl could see it clearly, whether intentional or not.

"Or would you run like the rest? Screaming with fear and horror?" he continued, her mind being sent into emotional turmoil.

_He's a monster! He killed Piangi! He killed Buquet! He's playing with your head, you're going to be next if you don't think of something!_

Should she lie or tell the truth? What was the truth?

"I don't know." she admitted, putting as much sympathy into the words as she could.

_He's going to kill you! What’s the point?_

"Why?" she inquired.

He inhaled quickly, as if snapping out of a trance.

"Just... Curious." he replied, the usual mocking tone in his voice.

Once again, his words seemed to drain all hope from her heart, leaving it cold and shrivelled, beating only pure fear that radiated out of every pore in her skin.

 _What’s the point in biding time when you won't act?_ With a last burst of courage, she slammed the back of her head into his chest and tried to duck under the blade. She awaited the searing pain that would come as the knife plunged into her side, but it didn't come. Instead, cold fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back. She whirled around to face him, to look him in the eye as he killed her, but then he was gone. His deadly grip on her had vanished.

A wave of relief and confusion crashed over the young dancer, and like a person drowning, she felt utterly paralysed. Her head screamed at her to run, but her legs had turned to lead. Eyes wide, she peered into the darkness, searching blindly for any sign of the phantom. She could still feel the chill of his blade on her neck.

"You amuse me, young one."

Meg's heart sunk in her chest as the tremulous voice hissed once again in her ear. Whipping her head around to face the masked murderer, she was surprised to be faced with only more darkness. A deep chuckle slunk out of the shadows behind her, but still the phantom remained out of sight.

"You give the little bird freedom, but it doesn't yet know how to fly." he mused. "Tell me, little bird, would you like to learn how to fly?"

"Will you let me go or not?" Meg called into the gloom, her voice ricocheting through the cavern.

The phantom laughed again, draining the fleeting hope from her heart.

"Too soon, Young Giry, too soon. You wouldn't want to _fall_ on your way out."

"What do you want?" Meg slipped on a piece of shattered wood, biting her lip so that she wouldn't cry out.

How could she tell what the Phantom was thinking if she couldn't see him? Surely he would grow tired of these games, and one way or another she would be free of this wretched place. Why on Earth had she come down here in the first place?

"Weren't you listening?" the voice now seemed to come from inside her own mind.

Instinctually, Meg clasped her hands over her ears. It was like trying to argue with Satan, letting down her defenses in a desperate attempt to find one of his.

"All I want is company, little Giry." The unseen demon reminded her. "You can talk for hours to the other ballet rats, why not now?"

"You're more of a rat than anyone." she snapped, beginning to step aimlessly through the debris on the floor, hoping that if she couldn’t see him, then he couldn’t see her.

Slowly, like an unseen member of the chorus, she danced through the shadows until her toes caressed the edge of the lake.

"Leaving so soon?" the Phantom mocked her, his breath grazing her earlobe.

Meg held her tongue and turned around, but once again was faced with only a whisper. She stared out at the ink black water, the cold seeming to freeze her to the spot.

"Cold feet, is it my dear?" he leered again.

"Why can't you just let me leave?" Meg finally lost her resolve, her voice cracking as a single, salty tears rolled down her cheek.

There was a pregnant pause. Was he satisfied now that she'd shown weakness? Did he have any pity in his black heart?

"I will, if you give me your word." he replied.

The young ballerina didn't like the sound of cunning lying in wait beneath his words.

"My word... For what?" she inquired, licking her dry lips and fighting the urge to wipe the cold sweat from her brow.

Meg could taste her own tears.

"Let us just presume that I don't hear much news whilst I... Reside, down here." the Phantom's voice circled around the cavern. "It’s been a while since I've had an informant."

Her mind was cleared at the prospect of a safe release, but the price weighed heavy on her shoulders. A spy? For the Phantom? Was he insane?

"Are you sure that _I_ am the right choice for-"

"Do not think you can outwit me, Little Giry." he hissed, his deep tone morphing into something dark. Something dangerous.

Meg held her tongue and forced herself to consider. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? He wasn't asking much. Only information. Gossiping being her expertise, it wasn't as though she'd find it difficult.

"And if I don't?" Meg squeaked, her voice refusing to stay steady.

"It would be such a tragedy for a young ballet rat to fall and break her neck." her captor mused. "Down some stairs perhaps? What a waste of young life."

She bit her lip, screaming internally. If only she hadn't come down here in the first place, then she could’ve carried on in ignorant bliss. Meg inhaled slowly. She knew too much already. The 'freedom' the Phantom was giving her meant nothing; it was her own knowledge that tugged on the noose around her neck.

"How would I inform you?" her words were tentative - surely he didn't expect her to make her way down here again?

She could damn near kill herself if she tried that again.

"A note on a desk would suffice." came the reply.

"Why is it that you cannot find information for yourself?" again Meg's curiosity betrayed her.

Another pause.

"I am not ready to make myself... Known, as of yet."

_"And if I tell someone?"_

The question hung unasked in the cool air. Meg feared she already knew she answer.

"And what is it you want to know?"


End file.
